Chapter 37
Chapter
“What’s wrong?” George’s question jerks me out of my anxious thoughts and back into reality. I glance up at him where he sits beside me on his couch.
After the confrontation with Darla at the diner, I headed home, showered, cried some while in the shower, dressed in my comfiest clothes, let Grumps out so he could intimidate squirrels, then showed up at George’s apartment like I had originally planned before my day went to shit.
We’ve been sitting here, quietly watching a reality show about pilots flying to remote communities in Canada while Jet lets out the occasional demonic yowl from her hiding spot under the couch.
George’s discerning gray eyes track over my face, and I guess I’ve gotten out of the habit of masking my emotions around him.
Probably an indication of emotional growth, but the new vulnerability makes it hard to hide that the toxic judgments his mentor spoke to me still loom heavy in my brain.
Especially when my walls were demolished even more by Darla’s words.
Ever since that shift at Beefies, my mind has continued to reel, seeking a solution. A way to shut down the scandalous picture Vernon painted of my relationship.
Only one option seems to fix the source of the problem.
“I was thinking.” My voice is tight, and I have to clear my throat to get the next words out. “About the rest of my flight hours.”
George smiles. “Not too many more now.”
“I don’t think you should be my instructor. Not anymore.”
George was sitting in a relaxed sprawl, but his body stiffens. Slowly, he sits up, his eyes on me.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re sleeping together. We’re sleeping together, and you’re not charging me.”
He frowns, the expression digging deep lines into his brow. “Those aren’t related.”
“We know that. Other people don’t.”
“What other people?” He shakes his head as if an annoying fly buzzes around his face. “No, it doesn’t matter. Screw those other people.”
He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew who brought up the subject.
Or would he keep the same stance he has now? Would he tell Vernon to fuck off?
My hopeful heart wants to believe the latter, but my stomach cramps at the idea anyway. George lost his mother and doesn’t get along with his father. Whenever he talks about Vernon, I can hear the respect and affection in his voice. I don’t want to be the wedge that splits George from his mentor.
Even if the guy is a misogynistic prick.
But I won’t say yes to this.
Not after what my mom went through at BBN.
The ousting by Karl Newton was harsh but only part of what cut so deep.
When I was a teen and started to understand exactly what she went through, I asked her why he wasn’t fired, too.
Mom told me that’s how things work. Karl Newton had the power, and she didn’t.
Her coworkers turned their backs on her because he told them to.
Apparently, the day security escorted my mom from the building, not a single person met her eyes. No one reached out afterward. Only a lawyer with threats to keep her mouth shut. And later, when she worked up the courage to call a few, hoping to get a reference or two, they all turned her down.
The whole company turned on her, as far as she could tell.
What if the word of one influential man could do the same to me?
I want to be part of the flying world. Not just earn my license, but join the community. Become a member of the club when I have the funds to pay the fees. Maybe even take on a volunteer role. I want to look at careers in the field.
Will I be able to do that if Vernon Roswell is always referring to me as “George Bunsen’s redhead” or saying I’m the girl who only got my license because I slept with my instructor?
Will anyone be willing to fly with me if they hear that? Would I be allowed to transport rescue dogs if the rumor reached the Pilots and Paws organization? How could they trust that I actually know what I’m doing?
Will an examiner even be willing to test me, or will they fail me like Tim warned could happen?
I try to convince myself that Vernon is only one man.
But then I hear him as a guest on my favorite aviation podcast, the hosts applauding his career and war hero father.
I visit the flight club’s website and find out he’s run unopposed as president for years.
I listen to George reminisce about his first flights and how Vernon was there at a pivotal point in his life.
Maybe I’m overthinking this, but I’m new to the world of aviation. I don’t fully understand the power dynamics. What I do know is how gossip can ruin a reputation. How the wrong word from someone important can destroy a career.
Especially a woman’s.
I stand up from the couch, wanting room to pace and distance from George. Slimy discomfort coats my skin, and I rub my arms to dispel the sensation.
“You’re an established pilot. You own your own planes. People respect you.” I cross my arms and glare at the man, willing him to understand my position. “I’m a nobody. A pretty girl fucking you for flying lessons.”
George’s face goes cold. Arctic. I swear I get frostbite.
“Who said that to you?”
“I thought you said screw those other people,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze.
George leans forward in his seat. I can feel the shift in the room, spy the movement from the corner of my eyes.
“Those aren’t your words. Tell me who said that to you.”
I throw my arms up. “Who said it doesn’t matter!
I just don’t want to have to hear it for the rest of my life.
” Which I’m not sure I can avoid at this point.
Not if I want to stay with George. But maybe I can take steps now to mitigate the damage.
“You’re not my instructor anymore. Just deal with it. ”
There’s a heavy silence in the room, and I risk a glance his way.
He’s furious and doing a bad job of hiding the way his anger twists his face.
Unlike his father and mine, he doesn’t spew angry words at me.
But what he says next somehow hurts more.
“You can’t afford it. Not if you insist on paying Shawn back.”
After George learned there was no trust fund, I told him about how I was working more hours and saving all of my money to pay back what Shawn had lent me. George, like Darla, was adamant that my brother wouldn’t care.
That’s easy for them to say, I’m sure. They aren’t the ones faced with losing the love and trust of their only sibling.
They weren’t with him the night after he left Tiffany, when he broke down sobbing after four strawberry daiquiris and asked me if money was the only thing that made him lovable.
Now I’m the one leveraging everything he’s ever felt insecure about against him.
George didn’t press me when I told him my mind was made up, and he agreed not to tell Shawn about the lack of a trust fund, even though he grit his teeth through it. His frustration seemed more directed at Karl Newton than at me, at least.
“I’ll figure it out,” I tell him now.
George drops his face into his hands with a groan. “Just let me help you, Beth.”
“No.”
“I’m your boyfriend.” There’s a twinge of doubt in his voice that softens my bristling exterior. We haven’t expressly said what we are to each other yet, but after Tasha and Annabel’s reception, I agree that we’ve reached at least that point together.
“You are.”
A touch of tension leaves his shoulders, as if he braced for me to deny his claim. “So you should accept my help.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Yes, it is!” He drops his hands, eyes pleading with me. “It’s okay to accept help from your boyfriend. And it’s also okay to accept help from your brother.”
“I do!” Too much. He gives me so much and doesn’t know I lied to get more. But he will know. A few weeks, and the truth will be out.
“Fine. You do,” he concedes. “Then let me help with this like a good boyfriend. People in couples support each other. What’s mine is yours.”
“That’s a husband-and-wife thing.”
“Then marry me.”
I gape at George.
He doesn’t back down. Doesn’t take it back. He just holds my gaze with his, determination hardening the silver in his irises.
“You did not just propose to me to win an argument,” I hiss.
He grimaces. “I love—”
“Oh god! Stop, George. Just stop.” I storm toward the door, grabbing my bag as I go. “I don’t want to hear that right now.”
Disturbed by my agitated footsteps, Jet launches from beneath the couch and scrabbles across the floor to find a new hiding spot in her castle of cardboard boxes.
George ignores his wild cat roommate to follow me, not crowding me but still keeping close. “Why can’t I say it if it’s true?”
I whirl on him. “Because it doesn’t feel true when you’re just trying to get your way!”
He drags frustrated hands over his skull. “Please don’t leave. Can’t we just…go to war?”
Wouldn’t that be lovely? Take a few shots and let a deck of cards decide who’s right?
But that’s not how life works. Not how relationships work. At least I don’t think they do. Honestly, I don’t have any experience, which is why I want to get out of this condo before I say something to mess this up.
“No. No war. I just need space.”
I thought coming here would give me that, but George is just another person I care about who I can’t tell the full truth to.
The blood drains from his face. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Jet lets out an eerie yowl as if sensing her human’s distress.
I groan in frustration because damn it, I think I love this man, and I don’t want to hurt him. But I don’t know how to make a choice that won’t.
Still, either way, I’m not letting him go.
“Space from this argument. Not you.” I fist a hand in his shirt and drag him down to my level. He comes easily. Accepts my kiss eagerly.
He tries to coax me to follow him back into his home with the temptation of his lips and his love.
But I break away and turn back to the door.
“Beth—”
“I’ll text you when I get home safe,” I mutter, then make my escape.
Running away for the second time in one day.